Claiming Christmas

Claiming Christmas by Naima Simone

Breathless Press Calgary, Alberta www.breathlesspress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Claiming Christmas Copyright© 2010 Naima Simone ISBN: 978-1-926930-16-9 Cover Artist: Dara England Editor: Sandra Rychel All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Breathless Press www.breathlesspress.com

Chapter One

“Jingle bells, jingle bells…” Almost there. Regan Price closed her eyes as thirty angelic voices rose and filled Lincoln Elementary School’s auditorium. Behind the heavy green curtains, she exhaled, and relief stuttered to life in the pit of her stomach as the end of the night loomed closer… “Batman smells, Robin laid an egg…” She groaned. Oh shit. Shoot me now. Just take me out to the parking lot, and lodge one right between my eyes. As the fourth grade continued its remix of “Jingle Bells,” with the Joker making a clean getaway, Regan’s future as third grade teacher at Lincoln Elementary flashed by like a runaway train. How apropos, really. In the past year, her two-year relationship with Charles Brunick had gone to hell with gasoline drawers on. His mother—the principal of Lincoln Elementary—had tacked her name to the top of her “Shit List” since Regan had dared to break up with her darling son. Forget the fact that she’d busted the cheating rat 1

Claiming Christmas getting a naked lap dance in their bed. And now this. Her first time chairing the annual Christmas pageant, and the demon-spawn fourth grade debuts the DC Comics rendition of “Jingle Bells.” She was so fired. The sound of applause snatched her away from visions of resumes dancing in her head instead of sugarplums. Within seconds, the curtains rustled, and thirty boisterous kids filed off the stage. Not one had the grace to look ashamed as they passed by her- too hyped up from their little coup to care that a royally pissed teacher glared holes in the backs of their necks. Little hellions. “Now that was worth the price of admission.” “Oh, shut up.” Regan scowled at her best friend and fellow teacher, Carrie St. John. The tall brunette held her palms out, but the wide grin she wore ruined the conciliatory gesture. “See?” Carrie lowered her hands and pointed a pale-pink-lacquered nail toward Regan’s chest. “I knew you would be standing back here, feeling as if the sky was about to fall on your head. C’mon, Chicken Little, it wasn’t that bad.” She snorted. “Frankly, after an hour of ‘Silent Nights’ and ‘Ave Marias,’ that performance woke me up.” “Gee, thanks, Carrie,” Regan drawled and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you could give that glowing recommendation to the Wicked Bitch of the West, and she’ll decide to get off my back.” Her friend cocked her head to the side and pretended to consider her words. “Actually,” she mused, brow scrunched in mock consideration, “since it is Christmas, I think the more accurate term would be Bitch of Christmas Present.” Murder was frowned upon in the state of Massachusetts. Especially the day before Christmas Eve. Oh, to hell with it. Regan took a menacing step toward her friend. “Carrie, I swear—” “Oops! There’s your cue, sweetie,” she interrupted as applause broke out once more in the auditorium. Carrie grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around to face the curtains. “Go say good night to all the delighted parents, and then make a quick getaway before the Bitch of Christmas Future nabs you. Meet me at Reilly’s for drinks in a half hour.” Escape and drinks. She didn’t know which she desired more— evading her soon-to-be-ex-principal, or oblivion at the bottom of several shot glasses. “Christmas Present,” she muttered before pasting a fake smile on her face and stepping out on the auditorium stage. 2

Naima Simone Christmas. Bah humbug.

***

Regan glanced up as the bell above the entrance to Reilly’s chimed. The new arrival was young and brunette, but not Carrie. She sighed and turned her attention back to the almost empty glass in front of her. The cheers, laughter, and merriness that filled the pub only served to remind Regan of how pathetically alone she appeared. In this case, appearances were not deceiving. Forty-five minutes had passed since she’d escaped the school auditorium and her imminent reaming from her principal. True, she couldn’t avoid the woman forever, but Regan preferred to have the conversation after Christmas. Lifting her glass, Regan shook her head then frowned. When had she sucked that last drink down? Setting the glass on the bar, she glanced up and caught the bartender’s attention with a raised hand. When the smiling twenty-something reached her, Regan pointed to the empty drink. “Another eggnog with rum,” she ordered. “Hold the eggnog.” “Coming right up.” “Now what would the PTA of Lincoln Elementary say if they knew one of their teachers was imbibing?” Oh hell. It couldn’t be… She raised her lashes to meet a familiar emerald green stare she hadn’t encountered in a year. Yeah, it could be. His dark brown hair had grown longer, grazing his hard jaw, but the eyes belonged to one person. Cian St. John. Heat flared to life in her pussy, and her womb clenched in painful arousal as images of the last time they’d seen each other engulfed her. And in that penetrating gaze, she spied the same memory…

***

One year earlier Regan groaned under the weight of the two paper bags in her arms. With a lot of coordination and not a little trouble, she shifted a bag so they both rested in one arm while she fished a key from her coat pocket to unlock the apartment door in front of her. Seconds later, she pushed the door open with her shoulder and a sigh of relief. After removing the key from the lock, Regan entered the dark apartment and shut the door behind her. Moonlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the condominium and provided more than enough light as she navigated her way toward the open kitchen. 3

Claiming Christmas Two days before Christmas, she should have been having a quiet, romantic dinner with her boyfriend, Charles. Instead she was at Carrie’s brother’s condo, preparing his place for a Christmas party he knew nothing about, since he wasn’t scheduled to arrive home until Christmas Eve. Regan rolled her eyes as she removed food from the grocery bags. Carrie had been dragging her into crazy schemes since they’d been freshmen at Boston College. She grinned and shook her head. Only Carrie would throw an illegal party at twenty-nine like a damn teenager. Regan turned toward the refrigerator, wine in hand, when a muted noise halted her midstep. Frowning, she set the tall, frosted bottle on the marble butcher block counter and headed toward the hall. Once in the dim corridor, she paused and listened. Hmm. She shrugged. Maybe all those Christmas carols on the car radio had her hearing things. Except…there it was again. Still hesitant, Regan nonetheless started in the direction of the noise. “Hell,” she muttered, “isn’t this how the black chick always gets it first in horror movies?” Yet the cinematic knowledge didn’t prevent her from heading toward the dark bedrooms at the end of the hall of Cian’s apartment. Cian. A quiver of pleasure shuddered through her at the thought of Carrie’s older brother. With his magnetic sensuality, mahogany waves, slumberous emerald gaze, and tall, wiry frame, Cian had fueled many erotic dreams…and the purchase of her first vibrator. Forget a stick; the man was sex on a damn totem pole. After a perfunctory glance in the first bedroom, she moved to the second, shot a look in the shadowed interior—and froze. The breath shuddered past her lips, her arms dead weight at her sides. Though her mind sent screaming messages to her feet to move, they remained glued to the floor. Cian lounged in the large armchair, a white shirt open to reveal the smooth, golden expanse of his chest and ridged abdomen. One hand rested on the arm of the chair, and the other cupped the blonde head of the woman kneeling before him. He murmured something too low for Regan to catch, but his lover whimpered and lowered her head in his lap. Oh shit. Oh. Shit. Cian—the same Cian who wasn’t supposed to be home until the next day—was receiving a blow job. While she watched. 4

Naima Simone Oh God. She should back out the doorway before either of them noticed her, she thought. She should escape the apartment before he realized she’d been there. She should… Her breathing grew ragged, and lust like she’d never experienced gripped her in its manacles and kept her rooted to the spot, a voyeur to the erotic display. Arousal attacked her clit, spasmed through her pussy. The sensible cotton panties she’d pulled on that morning now felt too abrasive against her sensitive, swollen lips. She reached out and placed a palm against the doorjamb to steady herself. A hiss of pleasure echoed in the room, and the muscles of Cian’s abdomen became more delineated. His hand left the armrest and joined the other in the woman’s blonde strands. The skin over his cheekbones tautened, and his hold on the woman’s head grew more forceful, demanding. Not a word passed between them, but his small grunts and her whimpers punctuated the quiet like an erotic chorus. Distantly Regan realized the noises she’d heard in the kitchen and hall had been the sounds of their lovemaking. As hot lust flared in her stomach, a small moan escaped her. His head jerked up. A jeweled stare burned into hers. Santa Claus could’ve crashed through the dark window on his sleigh, and Regan couldn’t have glanced away from the narrowed gaze fixed on her. If the sight of Cian having his cock sucked had sent heat spiraling through her system, peering into his eyes as pleasure overtook him ignited a raging inferno that the wet cream coating her sex couldn’t quench. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and the sensual curve of his lips flattened. His long lashes fluttered and then lowered as he reached orgasm, severing their erotic link. And destroying the stupor she’d fallen under. The glue bonding her feet to the floor loosened, and with a lurch and then a stumble, Regan hurtled down the hall. She paused long enough to twist the lock, snatch the door open, and rush through. The frigid night wind smacked her in the face, blowing her hair back. But even a category ten hurricane couldn’t remove the image of Cian coming from her mind.

***

The bartender plunked her glass down on the bar top. Regan reached out and wrapped her fingers around its slightly cool surface. It did nothing to alleviate the arousal that flared to life in her longneglected pussy. Her stomach spasmed, and the pull echoed in her channel, leaving behind an emptiness that begged to be filled. It had 5

Claiming Christmas been a year to the day since she’d last seen Cian, but the memory of him coming still had the power to draw the most prurient response from her body. “If you’re Carrie,” she drawled and envisioned a victorious pumped fist when her voice remained steady, “I’ve had one too many of these eggnogs.” Cian smiled, and cream spilled from between her pussy lips, dampening her panties. Damn. Someone needed to slap a warning label on that mouth. “She told me to meet you two here.” “How nice of her,” Regan muttered. “I’m floored by your warm welcome. What do they say? There’s no place like home.” He ordered a beer from the bartender, then turned toward her and propped his elbow on the bar while hooking the heels of his shoes on the barstool rung. “Wrong season.” Regan shook her head. “I think the line should be ‘and God bless us, every one.’” “Right. It’s so easy to get those two mixed up.” “Understandable.” A silence thick with tension descended between the two of them. The smile that quirked one corner of Cian’s full, sensual lips softened. “I’ve missed you. Merry Christmas, Rae,” he murmured. The warm, bourbon-flavored tone heated her like a sip of the amber liquor. It burned. It intoxicated. Ducking her head, Regan fixed her attention on the glass in her hand and raised it to her lips. The rum slid over her tongue, smooth and strong. Just the way she imagined his cock would penetrate and glide into her mouth—smooth skin over strong, steely muscle. The bobbing head of his lover had prevented a glimpse of his cock that night. But Regan’s fertile imagination had supplied image after vivid image of what she’d missed. “Damn,” she complained, peeling off the green velvet high-collar jacket she’d donned in deference to the season. “All these people in here must be a health hazard. I’m burning up.” I’m burning up. I’m burning up. The three words seemed to resonate and grow louder, as if the bar had suddenly transformed into the Grand Canyon. She closed her eyes and wished for the earth to crack open and suck her into its depths. Maintaining her senses in front of this man was proving to be as impossible as ever. Even more so since she’d discovered how he looked when he came. How his face tight6

Naima Simone ened. How the dark fan of lashes lowered over his bright gaze and his full lips firmed into a taut line. A tremulous breath passed her parted lips as she lifted her lashes and met his penetrating stare. Again she averted her eyes. No doubt her thoughts were reflected in her gaze. Along with the desire curling through her veins like a sprawling vine. For ten years she’d watched and wanted her best friend’s brother…and that’s all she’d done. Cian St. John had been like the rock star on the poster tacked to her bedroom wall—sexy and unattainable. As much as she desired it, Regan acknowledged that having sex with Cian was as likely as Flavor-Flav being voted number one in People’s “50 Most Beautiful” issue. “Carrie didn’t mention you were home,” she stated. “I thought you were in Milan or Paris or some other exotic city.” As a financial consultant for companies in fiscal trouble, demand for Cian’s expertise and services carried him all over the world for months at a time. “Why, Rae. I didn’t know you cared.” He raised the dark brown beer bottle to his lips and took a long sip, his contemplation of her never wavering. He lowered the bottle, and it dangled between his strong, elegant fingers. “You never call. You never write.” And say what? Hallmark made cards for every occasion, but even they would’ve been stumped creating a sentimental message for interrupting fellatio. “Well, this year has been a little busy.” She hunched a shoulder, reaching for nonchalance. “You know, becoming engaged, breaking off said engagement, and then dealing with Principal Dearest at work.” Cian arched an eyebrow. “I knew about the engagement, and Carrie filled me in on the breakup, but what’s this about your job?” Rae sighed. “Long story short, my principal is the ex’s mother, and she’s personally offended that I don’t want to marry her rat-bastard son anymore. So for the past six months, she’s been making my life hell at school, with one imagined infraction or another. But after tonight, instead of being on the top ten of her ‘Shit List,’ I just zoomed to number one…thanks to the fourth grade.” “Oh yeah,” he agreed with a nod seconds before he let out a bark of laughter. “The remix of ‘Jingle Bells.’” “You were there?” He nodded. “I met Carrie at the school. My favorite part was when that kid mimed the Batmobile losing its wheel.” Regan slapped her hands to her face and peered at him through spread fingers. 7

Claiming Christmas “Oh shit.” They stared at each other. She wasn’t sure who snickered first, but it was like jerking the plug from the dam. Great guffaws of laughter between them. By the time their hilarity died down, Regan clutched her aching stomach, and Cian swiped at his eyes. Damn, it felt good, like an albatross had been hefted from her neck. It had been months since she’d laughed that hard, and it felt…cleansing. “Thank you.” She wheezed. “I needed that.” “You’re welcome.” His grin softened to a smile. He tilted his head to the side and reached out to cup her nape. She shivered. From the hardening of his jaw and the flare of heat in his eyes, Regan realized he hadn’t missed the telltale shudder. “Tell me something, Regan.” “What?” she whispered. Cian leaned forward until the barest of space separated them. The scent of the beer he’d drunk and that flavor belonging to him alone bathed her lips, and Regan wanted to swipe her tongue across them to taste him. She drew back, alarmed by the power of her hunger. But his hold tightened and refused to allow her the distance. “Why did you get engaged to Charles when you wanted me?”

8

Chapter Two

Cian watched her eyes widen, surprise flickering in the dark gaze—that dark gaze that had haunted him for a year. The last time he’d stared into it had been over the head of a woman sucking his cock. How fucked up was it that he could remember the shock and arousal in her black stare but couldn’t recall the name or face of the woman whose lips had been locked around his dick? Everything about that night had narrowed to the moment he’d looked up to discover Regan standing in the doorway, her chest rising and falling, lust a bright gleam in her eyes. As his balls had tightened and the orgasm rolled up his cock and erupted, it had been as if he’d come with Regan…as if they’d shared that moment instead of he and the woman on her knees in front of him. God, having her gaze on him had made the release hotter, more explosive. Yet when he’d opened his eyes, she’d disappeared. And as he’d pushed to his feet, the sound of the front door slamming shut had reached his ears. 9

Claiming Christmas Now, as he studied her lovely features, he wanted answers. But even more, he needed her, the strong suction of her mouth, the hot clasp of her pussy…the intelligent, piercing gaze and warm heart that recognized him as a man and not a trust fund. “Wh-what do you mean?” Regan stuttered, and her pulse fluttered wildly under the thumb he’d rested on her collarbone. “Are we going to play this game, Regan?” he scolded, voice teasing, but the knot of frustration in his chest was anything but lighthearted. “You want me to spell it out, then?” His hold firmed. “Okay. You walked in on me with another woman, my cock in her mouth. And instead of turning around the moment you walked in the room, you stayed to watch.” His dick throbbed against his thigh, hard like a steel pipe in his pants. Just the thought of her hot stare affected him to the point where he could pound tent stakes with his erection. “I saw your eyes, Regan. You wanted to be the one kneeling in front of me. You wanted my cock fucking your mouth. Don’t deny it.” He growled when her lips parted, most likely to refute his claim. Regan resisted his grip on her neck, leaning away from him, and this time, Cian allowed it. “And?” she demanded, breathless. “Seeing you get blown might have turned me on in a dirty, need-a-brain-enema sort of way. What does that have to do with my engagement?” “Baby, you have to ask that?” Cian couldn’t hide his incredulity. “When you marry, you pledge your life and body to another. A year ago, I could have had your body, and we both know it.” “Even if that were true,” she gritted out through clenched teeth, “you didn’t want it a year ago. So what does it matter?” Didn’t want it? Didn’t want her? Shit, if he wanted it any more, his balls would be a permanent shade of blue. He considered her. The thrust of her full, round breasts and the length of her slim thighs currently encased in sheer black stockings had never failed to gain his notice. Sweetly curved in all the places a woman should be, Regan’s body could make Elton John hard. The dark cap of hair shaped close to her head and topped with short, chunky spikes was new. But sexy as hell. Ever since the spring Carrie had brought Regan home for school break their freshman year of college, Cian had been fascinated by the elfin spitfire. From the lovely features, to the dry wit and keen intelligence, to the indomitable drive that had earned her a scholarship to a prestigious college, Regan humbled him. He, the financial consultant from Beacon Hill who could trace his roots back to the Mayflower, at 10

Naima Simone times felt like a spoiled trust fund baby when faced with her spirit for life. Which explained why the thought of her settling for less than she deserved pissed him off. And that cheating dickhead, Charles, could never inflame her, stir her—love her—like Cian did. “How do you know, Regan?” Frustration and arousal surged hot and thick in his veins. “You never gave me the chance. I tried to reach you all night. I called, went by your apartment. But you had turned your phone off and never came home.” The impotent anger and helplessness he’d experienced that night rolled over him and roughened his voice to a low rumble. Again he reached out, this time pinching her chin between his finger and thumb. She stared at him, quiet, listening. Her hands rested on her thighs, and she didn’t attempt to remove his grasp. “And the next day Carrie announced your engagement. Why? When I know you hungered for me. I saw it.” “Cian—” she whispered. He shoved off the barstool, cutting her off with the abrupt motion. In one movement, Cian landed on his feet in front of her, her skull cradled between his palms. He tilted her chin back with a slight pressure of his thumbs under her jaw. “Do you want to know why I came home this Christmas?” he rasped. Unable to resist any longer, Cian lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers. Her soft puff of air caressed his lips, and he wanted to taste that hint of rum on his tongue. Giving in to the need, he dipped his head for a deeper sample of her mouth. And groaned at the moist, hot depths that had been uncharted territory to him before then. “I returned for you, baby. I stayed away this past year because I couldn’t promise not to interfere in your relationship. But when I found out your engagement had ended, I refused to spend another day without you.” The shaky breath she exhaled warmed the thumb he’d raised to sweep across her full bottom lip. Her lashes lowered, concealing her thoughts from him. Fear seized his chest. No, he had to see her eyes. The answer that seemed more vital than oxygen would exist in those dark, expressive eyes. “Open your eyes, Regan,” he implored and gave her head a tiny shake. “Look at me, baby.” When she complied, Cian scrutinized her blank expression, her shielded gaze. For the first time in ten years, he found he couldn’t read her thoughts. “Come home with me. Take a chance on me. On us.” 11

Claiming Christmas His heart thudded dully in his chest and resounded like a bass drum in his ears. The noise that surrounded them reduced to muffled background static. All that mattered was their future, which hinged on the answer he waited to hear. Uncertainty crept over her features, and she searched his face, her inspection alighting on his mouth, brow, and eyes. Her lips parted further, and her throat worked as if the word was trapped and she labored to release it. “Yes.”

***

The dark welcomed them as Cian ushered Regan into the apartment with a hand at the small of her back. After that panicked moment in the bar before she’d whispered yes, a part of him needed that contact to reassure himself that she stood there. She paused in the entryway, as if uncertain about where to go now that she’d arrived at his home. “Rae?” He moved behind her and settled his hands on her hips. She gave a slight jolt at his touch, and he lowered his head and nuzzled the curve of her ear. “Sh,” he soothed and pressed his lips to the soft skin behind her earlobe, then to the place where her jaw and neck merged. “So sweet.” The shudder that shook her frame seemed like a reward. Cian buried his face in the curve between her shoulder and throat. And inhaled. Cocoa butter and vanilla. The perfect complement to her café au lait complexion. Her smooth, pretty skin had always been an allure to him. One of his more erotic fantasies was imagining his pale cock parting the darker lips of her sex and watching them surround him as he sank into the hot depths of her pussy. He groaned at the mental picture and ground the hard ridge of his dick against her firm, round ass. A whimper escaped Regan, and he celebrated in the hungry sound. He grasped her chin and turned her head to the side. Her gaze met his, and the heat there rocked him to his soul. Eyes open, he covered her mouth, and her lips parted under the thrust of his tongue. Damn. He’d sampled her in the bar, but this kiss was the full buffet. He devoured her, diving over and over into the sweet, moist cavern. His tongue tangled with hers, learning every crevice. And when she moaned into his mouth, he took that too. “Cian,” she breathed, tilting her head back. Air rasped in and out of her lungs. Her chest rose and fell. After scattering brief, hard kisses to her neck, he opened his lips over the skin at the base of her throat and sucked the flesh between his teeth. Regan tunneled her long fin12

Naima Simone gers through his hair, her short nails scratching his scalp. He grunted, and his hips surged forward. Even through the material of his slacks and her skirt, the curves of her ass parted as he stroked his cock between the tight globes. With no little effort, Cian released her. The echo of their rough pants reverberated in the room. He moved back a step. Then another. One of the hardest things he’d ever done was walk away from her, even if it was just to enter the living room. Squatting, Cian balanced on the balls of his feet next to the tall Christmas tree that Carrie had arranged to be set up and decorated. The tall Douglas fir reached the ceiling and spread its branches almost four feet wide. He lifted the extension cord from the floor and inserted the plug into the socket. Above him, the tree sparkled to colorful life. He craned his neck back, and for several moments remained still and observed the twinkling lights that symbolized the beauty of the season. He inhaled, and then exhaled the breath as he rose to his feet. Turning, he then faced Regan again. She hadn’t moved from the spot he’d left her, though her gaze, darker than the shadowed apartment, followed him. He extended his arm out toward her, palm up. With no hesitation, she came to him. His heart swelled, filling his chest at the sign of trust. When her skin touched his, Cian folded his fingers around her hand and drew her closer until her breasts brushed his chest, her thighs pressed against his. The top of her head barely grazed his chin, and he wondered at her petite stature. He craved to enfold her in his arms, shelter her smaller frame with his own. So he did. He pulled her within his embrace…and just held her. And inhaled her. And cherished the quiet beat of her heart several inches below his own. His cock remained hard—it always stayed at the ready when within breathing distance of her—but it took a backseat to the pleasure of the puffs of air cooling the skin over his collarbone or the subtle pressure of her arms around his waist and her nails in his back. How long they stood there, Cian didn’t track. But after a while, being so close to Regan called forth a more demanding, prurient response. He couldn’t deny the insistent pounding of his erection—he didn’t want to. He stroked his palms up her back in a long, slow glide. The velvet of her jacket bunched as he slid the caress over her shoulders and throat to tip her head back. His thumbs tilted her chin upward, and the white lights from the tree behind them illuminated her perfect face. 13

Claiming Christmas “So beautiful,” he whispered and rubbed his lips over hers. He lifted his head, peered down into her upturned face, and searched her gaze for any sign of hesitation. All he spied was need, as hot as his. He dipped again for another taste of her lips, lapped at the roof of her mouth. She sighed, and Cian repeated the caress. “You like that, baby?” “God, yes,” she admitted on a low moan. “Can I taste your pussy like that?” He released his hold on her face and retraced the path to her back, then farther south to her hips and ass. The firm, rounded flesh filled his palms. “Damn, baby.” He shook his head and squeezed the cheeks, shaping them. “I want to watch my dick slide between your ass cheeks.” He released a shaky chuckle. “I think I would freak you out with all the fantasies I have regarding your ass.” “We can trade notes,” Regan murmured. “I’ve had ten years to conjure up some creative uses of your body.” “Tell me.” Regan studied Cian, the words trapped in her throat. A part of her continued to believe that at any moment she would jerk awake in her bed, pussy wet, pulse pounding from this erotically charged dream. God, please don’t let me wake up. “Come on, Rae,” Cian urged, rubbing his palms over her behind and pressing her closer to the rigid erection confined in his pants. His hooded, sensual stare beckoned the truth from her. “Tell me, so I can fulfill your fantasy.” She closed her eyes, gathered her courage, and reopened them to meet Cian’s intense scrutiny. “I want to fuck your mouth.” His features transformed from lazy sensuality to a hard mask of lust. The dusky skin over his cheekbones tautened, and his eyes glittered with stark arousal. The erotic curve of his lips took on an almost cruel sexuality that both excited and alarmed her. He removed his hands from her and stepped back. He shrugged out of his black jacket, and before the clothing dropped to the floor, he tugged his shirttails free of his pants. Then he reached between his shoulder blades, grabbed a fistful of material, and jerked the shirt over his head and off. “Get undressed.” The quiet order possessed the power of a thunderous shout. It contained a dark promise that shivered over her skin, leaving pebbled flesh in its wake. Trembling, she complied. First she peeled the jacket from her shoulders, and it joined Cian’s on the floor. The black, sleeveless shell and pencil skirt quickly followed. She’d 14

Naima Simone lifted her foot to remove a stiletto heel when his murmured curse blistered the air. “Fuck,” he breathed. Shirtless and belt unbuckled, Cian stood motionless, his stare fixed on her. “If I had known that was under your clothes, we might have been arrested in that bar.” Heat rushed to her chest, throat, and cheeks. She knew what he saw. The set had been a Christmas present to herself. And when she’d donned the matching black lace bra, thong, and thigh-high stockings that morning, she couldn’t have imagined Cian would be her audience when she removed it hours later. His hot inspection eliminated all modesty and insecurity. Regan finished removing her heels, and before the second shoe dropped to the floor with a dull thud, Cian was on her. It seemed as if his touch was everywhere—her face, her hair, her breasts, hips, and ass. He circled around her, and hard hands gripped her shoulders and pressed her to the floor. The soft nap of the rug cushioned her knees, and the width of his chest pressed into her back. She shivered. God, he felt like a living electric blanket, with all that heat. “Cian,” she cried out, spine arched as pleasure, so sharp it bordered on pain, spiked through her. “Oh God,” she gasped as Cian clamped her nipples and tugged on the turgid crests. She manacled his wrists as her hips gyrated to the sensual rhythm he set. “Hell yes, baby,” Cian growled in her ear and treated her nipples to a rewarding pinch. He released a breast and skimmed down her stomach to the soaked flesh between her thighs. The closer he caressed, the stronger her pussy clenched and quivered like a hungry mouth. When he cupped her mound and ground the heel of his palm against her pulsing clit, she keened, the sound high and wild. “Please, Cian,” she pleaded, writhing in his arms. It had been so long since she’d been touched. And never had she experienced pleasure this extreme, this destroying. “You want to come, Rae?” He hooked a finger under the tiny triangle of black lace that barely covered her smooth mound. The material formed a column of lace that he tugged and stroked between her lips, rubbing the clasping entrance to her pussy and causing an erotic friction to her clit. “Yes,” she cried out and reached back for him, grasped his dark waves, twisted the strands. Her body had become a separate entity, and lust drove it. And when Cian delivered a hard pat to her pussy, directly over her clit, Regan stiffened, and everything seemed to co15

Claiming Christmas alesce to a tight point centered on the hard button at the top of her sex. One more. All she needed was one more… Again Cian abandoned her, his heat disappearing from her back. She growled, frustrated. As soon as she was able to draw breath in her lungs, he would receive a damn earful about leaving her when she needed his touch most. Still kneeling, she wasn’t prepared when an abrupt tug ripped the delicate string at one side of her hip and hard fingers dug into her thighs, spreading them farther. She glanced down, and Cian lay between her legs, his mouth inches beneath her pussy. He swept the ruined panties down her leg so they hung drunkenly around her knee. His touch switched to her ass, cupping her, holding her captive. His jeweled gaze flicked up to her. “Ride me, Rae,” he encouraged with his sensual invitation and hooded stare. “Take my mouth.” On a loud, helpless groan, Regan lowered her hips toward Cian’s face. A harsh sob ripped from her throat at the first touch of his mouth on her pussy. His tongue swiped between her drenched folds and circled her clit, sipping at it. She rolled her hips, grinding her sex over his voracious lips and tongue. Cian licked, sucked, and flicked her flesh, switching his tempo and pressure to keep her riding the sharp, pleasure-pain edge of lust. Regan dropped forward, palms flattened on the floor above his head. Like an animal lost to its primal urges, she rode him with mindless purpose. “Oh God,” she sobbed, neck arched. “Please, let me come! Let me—” Cian gently bit down on her clit, and she splintered. Her scream would embarrass her later, but as her body convulsed and her pussy spasmed, she couldn’t care less. The orgasm detonated her into so many pieces, she doubted she would ever be whole again. As if from a distance, she comprehended impatient hands flipping her to her back and swiping the remnants of her thong down her leg. When full awareness crept in, she lifted her lashes to find Cian crouched over her. “Welcome back.” A small, tight smile kicked up one corner of his mouth. “Are you with me, baby?” All she could manage was a nod. “Good,” he said, voice rough. “I need you here when I do this.” He reared back on the balls of his feet and sprung up to stand over her. With hurried movements, he removed a wallet from the back pocket of his pants and pulled free a silver square. His hot gaze never 16

Naima Simone veered from her as he shucked his pants and lifted the foil to his lips. With a quick jerk of his teeth, he ripped the packet open, removed the condom, and in mechanical motions, sheathed his cock. And hell. His cock. The long, thick stalk arrowed down between his hair-sprinkled thighs. When Cian fisted the heavy shaft, she spied the broad, bulbous head. God, the size of the cockhead alone probably weighted his cock down. Alarm flashed through her even as her pussy, still sensitive from her orgasm, clenched as if in anticipation of the huge erection burying deep in its depths. With a small shift of movement, Cian encircled his cock directly beneath the cap and pressed the head to her swollen vaginal lips. He lifted the other hand to her hip and held her steady. The large knob stretched her entrance, and she bent her knees, forcing herself to relax and accept him. Her chest heaved, and she clenched and straightened her fingers in the thick rug beneath her. “Sh,” he soothed. “Easy, baby. You’re doing wonderful. Look at us.” Regan inhaled deep through her nostrils and elevated her head to peer down her chest, abdomen, and pelvis. Cian clutched her hips with both hands, and he raised them so she could see what he did. Most of his thick cock had yet to penetrate her pussy. As she watched, Cian withdrew the couple of inches he’d lodged inside her, and his juice-covered shaft came into view. “I love watching my cock part your pussy, baby. It’s so good how you suck me in. Take more. Fuck, take me in, Rae.” His words inflamed her, and as he rocked forward, her pussy opened a little more, accepting more of his rigid flesh. His eyes closed, and a moan passed his parted lips. “So tight. So fucking wet and tight.” Regan whimpered as more of him sank into her body. She was so full. She couldn’t take any more… “Yes, you can,” Cian gritted out, and Regan realized she’d vocalized the desperate thought. “Before this night is over, baby, I’m going to be balls-deep in your pussy. My whole cock is going to be surrounded by you.” He pushed her knees back until her thighs brushed her chest, opening her sex to his eyes and his cock. Cian rocked back and forth, riding her in a tender but ruthless manner. And true to his word, before long, he’d buried his entire length in her pussy. Her channel spasmed and shuddered around his cock, struggling to adjust to the 17

Claiming Christmas heavy weight invading her. He didn’t leave one inch of her pussy untouched. She was filled in a way she’d never known, and it was Cian completing her. Cian. Rivulets of sweat ran down his temple, neck, and chest. His harsh breathing and her continual whimpers reverberated in the room. Suddenly he loomed over her, and his face and blazing stare dominated her vision. Tension corded his arms while his hands flattened on the floor next to her ears. “This is what I’ve been dreaming about,” he whispered with a slow roll of his hips. The motion applied direct pressure to her clit, and she arched up, crying out as pleasure streaked through her. She clutched his shoulders, as if hanging on for her sanity’s sake, unsure she would survive this ride sane. With a guttural groan, Cian withdrew then plunged forward, ending the thrust with another circle against the tortured button at the top of her sex. “Cian,” she begged. Desire had rebuilt as he’d worked his cock in her pussy, and now she ached as if the first orgasm hadn’t occurred. “Cian,” she repeated. “Please. Fuck me. Hard.” Like a dam that had burst, the control he’d exerted all night exploded. His hips plunged, stroked, pistoned. He rode her hard, and the noise of skin slapping skin joined their cries and grunts. Rearing back, Cian palmed her knees and spread her thighs wide. His abrupt, powerful thrusts claimed her pussy, each stroke branding her as his. “Come for me, Rae,” he ordered, his voice a growl so low, it was almost unrecognizable. “I want your cum on my cock.” Between the erotic, carnal words and the press of his thumb on her clit, the second climax tore a hole in her soul; her being. If the first release splintered her, this one destroyed her. Above her, Cian’s grunts coincided with the rhythmic smacks of his hips against hers. As she drifted back down, he stiffened. With a hoarse shout, he erupted, shuddering with the force of his orgasm. God, he was beautiful when he came. Primal. Raw. Just…beautiful. With one last moan, he fell limp over her, his hands catching and bearing his weight. After several long moments, his lashes lifted, and she stared into his jeweled, slightly dazed eyes. Regan lifted a hand to his jaw and smoothed her thumb over his cheekbone. His heavy exhalations of air grazed the skin of her inner wrist. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured and couldn’t hold back the smile that curved her lips. Cian turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. He grinned. “And God bless us, every one.” 18

Biography I was born the daughter of a sharecropper… Okay, maybe not. But I am the daughter of a pastor from whom I inherited my love of romance. The man can preach a mean Song of Solomon! (There’s that plug, Daddy! You can pay me later!) Although my first book starred a cucumber named Fred, my first romance came several years later in the seventh grade, when I wrote myself as a heroine opposite Ralph Tresvant from New Edition. Through the power of my pen and imagination, Ralph took one look across a crowded stadium, met my dark, mysterious gaze, fell passionately in love, and serenaded me in front of millions of fans. Out of all the girls in the world, he chose me! And of course, we lived happily ever after—once we had the inevitable fight, aka black moment, and made up with a passionate declaration of love and fidelity. This same story reincarnated itself many times over the years: with Donnie Wahlberg from New Kids on the Block, Brad Pitt, Denzel Washington, and as recently as last night, Vin Diesel. Though the characters have changed, my love of love has endured. Shaping the lives of the unique men and women who experience the first hungry bites of lust, the dizzying heights of passion, and the tender, healing heat of love—nothing compares to it. Except maybe discovering new material for love scenes with my husband, the head of Research & Development!